


We Bring You Glad Tidings...

by ermengarde



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ermengarde/pseuds/ermengarde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Sammy is very professional, even when a sheep headbutts his ass, and Dean is a Star. Or Holds a star, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Bring You Glad Tidings...

Dean poked the blissfully rough pen lid down the tiny gap between his thigh and the once white plaster. Of course, it had been snowy and pristine for all of about twenty minutes; the painkillers had made him so out of it and Sam was a little _bitch_. Dean had completely used up three of Pastor Jim's sharpies trying to cover over Sammy's _artwork_.

Okay, so he was probably due the payback for the whole Nair incident, but Sam hadn't had to have a hair cut for _months_ and Dad had let him keep it a little longer since then. Dean'd done Sammy a favor, really.

He was so intent upon getting to the evasive, sneaky, evil, little itch that he didn't quite notice the look on Pastor Jim's face as the preacher came into the room. A holy man wasn't supposed to be _scheming_ anyway.

"Dean, I need a favor"

Dean sat up straight, surreptitiously continuing on his mission to stop his skin driving him out of his mind.

"Sure, whatever you need. As long as I don't need two legs for it, anyway." He was aiming for depreciating, rather than whiny, so he added a rueful little half smile. That little smile had served him very well in the past.

"No, no, you could stand on your good leg and use a crutch, or even sit down."

"Awesome, what is it?"

oOo

Sam damn near snorted his coffee out his nose when he heard Dean yelling. "YOU WANT ME TO BE A WHAT!? I'M NOT BEING SOME PANSY-ASSED STAR! Did Sam put you up to this?"

Of course, he didn't laugh quite so hard when Jim managed to con him into being the Narrator. It was very hard to say no to the man.

oOo

Both of them had been involved in nativity things at the church before - sometimes there was a pressing need for a donkey, or for a wise man who could be trusted not to drop the frankincense on Jesus' head - but not for _years_ , not since they'd broken 5ft and started to look a little too grown up. This year though, there was a new Sunday school teacher and she had _ideas_. Miss Lant was big into amateur dramatics and seemed to be viewing the Nativity Play as her magnum opus and _that_ meant a narrator who could cope the with impromptu changes to the plot when a seven year old shepherd decided to decapitate one of his sheep - it had only happened once, and the toy was old and falling to pieces anyway, but it had caused a lot of distress among the kindergarten class - or when the Virgin Mary suddenly came to the conclusion that Joseph was a _boy_ and boys have cooties. Dean blamed little _Joe's_ stupid haircut for that one, long and curly and very definitely feminine.

It was just _weird_ being sent down to the basement to rehearse with the Sunday school kids. At least half of them wanted to hang with Dean which, okay, obviously, 'cause Dean was by far the coolest person in the room, but having a handful of small people climbing all over him and his broken leg wasn't exactly comfortable. And Miss Lant absolutely blamed Dean for all the disruption to her class, too, which was entirely unfair.

Sammy thought it was totally hilarious, of course. Little bitch.

Still, all Dean had to do was sit at the back of the kids and hold up a silver-foil star on a stick - moving it around appropriately for the wise men. Sam had to stand out to the front and _read the story_. Laughing at your injured big brother gave terrible karma.

oOo

Okay, reading? Would have been a damn sight easier than holding a 14ft long pole and trying to stop it dipping down to concuss the Angel Gabriel. Dean felt the sweat slide down his back and his arms shake with the effort of holding the Star up and steady. Sam was reading so slooooooowly - it wasn't like anyone was listening... _"We bring you good news of great joy" blah blah blah, oh isn't Mary adorable, I can't get a good picture of little Bobby-Jim-Bob, why isn't_ my _child Joseph_. Dean narrowed his eyes. People said revenge was a dish best served cold, but Dean reckoned it was best served _constantly_ in various temperatures until Sammy got the message.

 _Finally_ Sam stumbled through to the manger scene and the Wise Man guiding was all finished up. Dean stuck the pole in the make-shift holder he'd constructed during the endless rehearsals... Of course now he had to hold the leashes for the sheep Miss Lant had brought in to _bring some realism to the manger scene_ \- Dean didn't see the logic in that, because even with people doing things younger in Biblical times, he was fairly sure Mary hadn't been _eight_ , but whatever, she wanted sheep and someone needed to hold them so they didn't run off and knock over the font.

If he happened to let them range close enough to head-butt the narrator's ass, well... he had a broken leg, the pain was distracting and Dean was very good at being innocent.

He was kind of proud of Sammy though, he was very professional, using all the correct pronunciations and not even flinching when Flossy tried to eat his pants.

oOo

Sitting in an empty pew, after, waiting for everyone to collect the right kid and stop milling around the church, Dean couldn't keep the grin off his face; turns out that the donkey had a thing for older ladies in red hats, and even Sammy and his super-fast reflexes hadn't been able to catch Marauder's harness when the crazy beast had noticed Mrs. Pennart.

Dean had successfully stopped the sheep from following it into the congregation (plus, Flossy seemed pretty convinced that Sam was the tastiest meal on offer), but the same couldn't be said for Mary, who had apparently decided that Marauder (or Mrs. Pretty Horse) was her Christmas present and was _getting away_ , Joseph, who had an unhealthy attachment to the ugly baby-doll Jesus that Mary was carrying with her, or for assorted wise men and shepherds who'd decided that playing chase was much more fun than looking lovingly at a crib and listening to Sam.

Sam's professionalism was outstanding, but Dean was pretty sure that they wouldn't be asked back after he descended into a story about the Holy Donkey of God and completely failed to pull the ornery animal off of the grand dame of the church coffee mornings until after her hat was well and truly destroyed.

And even if the new incarnation of the Holy Spirit didn't offend the sensibilities of Jim's congregation, Dean's not-quite-whisper about it smiting the unbelievers in their Whore of Bablyon hats probably would.  



End file.
